


A Birthday Card.

by MusicLover19



Series: The Menstruation Bonding [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopefully Not Too Sad Or Depressing, M/M, Not Supportive Family Members, Self-Doubt, Slight Transphobia, Trans Character, Trans Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 07:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13565898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicLover19/pseuds/MusicLover19
Summary: Peter arrives on time for Stiles’ typical monthly event, although, there is a distinct lack of blood when he arrives.





	A Birthday Card.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a big heads up! This could be rather triggering. I don’t want to upset anyone and I don’t really know how to tag it beyond what the tags say. Take care of yourself and read with caution please!

 

“I come bearing gifts!”

“Not bleeding dude, you don’t have to stay,” Stiles called back automatically. Normally he wouldn’t mind Peter being around, it didn’t even surprise him that the man had just walked into the house. Stiles really didn’t mind, especially not after how normal be had been treating him. It was nice, that illusion of normalcy. Stiles didn’t get that often enough.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, moving further into the house. He found Stiles sat at the table, his hands hidden beneath the wood and his eyes on the pink envelope. Deciding to tread carefully, Peter stayed quiet, waiting for Stiles’ response before jumping to any conclusions.

“It’s my birthday soon,” Stiles said, as if it answered Peter’s question. Except, it didn’t answer Peter’s question at all, only making the man move closer towards Stiles for a chance to see just what was wrong. It was a strange sight to see, the teen so engrossed in a simple envelope. Sure, Peter had seen Stiles’ slight obsessive nature before, but never is something so _ordinary_.

Peter made his way closer, sitting next to Stiles. He didn’t say anything; Peter didn’t have enough information _to_ say anything. He didn’t even know where he might begin. There was so much happening around Stiles that he was sure the male was not aware of. There was a mixture of disgust, hate, sorrow, acceptance and fear. It was a combination that Peter hadn’t felt from Stiles before, and right now, he did not care for it. It was too much, and much too negative for Peter to feel relaxed. Stiles wasn’t new to these feelings, but Peter had seen just how quickly the teen could cover them up when he wanted to, which begged the question of _why_ he still felt this way. Peter almost asked, when Stiles spoke, cutting him off before he even began.

“My mom’s family – they’re not the most supportive. Dad says that Dziadzio – my grandpa,” Stiles translated for Peter, “would be, but he’s not there anymore,” Stiles shrugged his shoulders. It was difficult to believe that his dad was right sometimes, even though he had nothing but pleasant things to say about his mom’s dad. Stiles had heard the tales of how his mom’s dad was more like a father to his dad than his dad’s dad. It was just almost an unbelievable fact, _especially_ since Stiles had never met the man. “It shouldn’t bother me really. It happens every year but it’s the fact I have to open them. Dad tries to intercept it, but I see it anyway, you know?” There was the silent; ‘ _so what’s the point?_ ’ added to the end of Stiles’ explanation, one shown through the shrug of his shoulders.

“What is it?” Peter asked, dread already growing in his stomach at how resigned and hurt Stiles was, even without looking inside. The only time Peter had seen Stiles even a fraction of what he was like now, was when he had been confronted in Derek’s apartment that first time. Even then, there was no hint of disgust, not really. Stiles seemed, for the most part, confident in himself. He had been resigned, a little scared, angry, and visibly ready to fight for himself.

“A card.”

It was said so simply that Peter was sure he was missing out on a lot of backstory. Peter didn’t quite understand where the fear was coming into it. It seemed out of place. Just what could be so bad about a card?

“What’s bad about a card?” he ended up asking, unable to help his curiosity.

“Take a look if you want,” Stiles said, a humourless laugh as his eyes did not leave the card.

Unable to help himself, Peter pulled the pink envelope closer. Each moment seemed to make itself known in Peter’s stomach. Something that Peter had not experienced before, how quickly he was feeling unsure and nervous. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea. A look over to Stiles’ poor lip, which was being bitten harshly between his teeth, he made his mind up. He lifted the envelope.

With care that Stiles hadn’t expected, Peter opened it. Stiles’ eyes did not leave Peter’s face, watching as the man went from curious to enraged in moments. With a sinking heart, Stiles accepted it, that the card had said exactly what he had expected, exactly what he had been worried about, and he couldn’t help the flinch when the cover was revealed to him, as Peter read the inside.

Peter looked, and on the whole it was a nice card, not cheap and certainly well made. It was what it said that was the issue, and Peter understood it all so clearly in that instant. Especially after how defensive Stiles had been that first time being called sweetheart.

_‘Happy Birthday to our wonderful granddaughter!’_ written big and proud across the front. Even the picture was overly feminine, make up and dresses stamped over the front. Peter didn’t really want to look inside, but he felt like he owed it to Stiles, even if it was making him enraged and sick on the teen’s behalf.

_‘Stiles, we all hope you have a great day. Remember that we think of you all the time. Happy Birthday dear. Love Babula  xoxo’_

“They use your name,” Peter pointed out, hopeful that it was something positive in it all and not just what it was.

“My _nickname_ ,” Stiles said with a sneer. “That’s all it is. I know it’s not easy to accept but it feels like they don’t even _try_.”

“They don’t understand,” Peter tried, knowing that his words were empty to Stiles’ struggle. No matter how much Peter wanted to be there, he didn’t truly know or understand exactly what Stiles was going through and he felt wrong trying to explain Stiles’ own struggles. Peter took time to turn the card face down on the table making sure that the offending words were not visible.

“I know,” Stiles sighed. “It’s just – they’ve known for a while. It isn’t even like I hid it as a kid, I didn’t like girly things at all and then I just _stopped_ ,” he tried. “I don’t know. I stopped responding to that name and it wasn’t even like they called it me often but mom’s family stuck with it. They still think it’s my dad _giving in_ to my crazy whims.”

Peter didn’t say anything. Not knowing what to say. There were things he wanted to say, at the risk of offending Stiles on his family’s behalf. Peter felt as though his protests and thoughts would only be unhelpful. All he felt able to do was offer Stiles silent support. That was, until the next thought came from Stiles’ mouth.

“Maybe I am being stupid,” the teen said, bitterness dripping from his voice. “One day I might wake up and decide I am really –”

“Stiles,” Peter said, his voice sharp and stern. It did wonders to stop the teen continuing to talk. Peter watched as Stiles swallowed, emotions running high and his distress only growing. “You know yourself best,” Peter said slowly, making sure he had Stiles’ attention with every word. “Even if you do change your mind in the future, which is unlikely,” he added quickly. “It does not mean that you are making a crazy whim.”

“I – I just don’t – what if I am just making it up?” Stiles whispered, the words struggling to come out as he tried to keep himself composed. Peter knew he had to tread carefully, otherwise he would have a crying male on his hands.

“You are not making it up,” Peter said, completely believing every word he was saying. “If you were making it up, you wouldn’t be able to live as you are. You, my wonderful boy, are as much of a man as Scott is, as _I_ am.”

“You’re wrong,” Stiles said, his voice barely audible. A few tears fell, and Stiles refused to wipe them away. “You’re wrong,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“Stiles,” Peter said, his tone firm again. “Tell me what gender you are,” it was a long shot, but Peter hoped that it might work.

“What –”

“Tell me what gender you are,” Peter repeated. “If you lie, I’ll know.”

“You won’t tell me,” Stiles shook his head, _that_ was a real worry. Stiles trusted Peter, but part of him was terrified of the man lying to him. Stiles didn’t know which he would prefer, Peter being honest, or Peter lying. As much as Stiles wanted reassurance, he wanted _true_ reassurance.

“I will,” Peter said gently, hoping that Stiles would trust him that much.

“I’m male,” Stiles said, his voice shook and he _hoped_. Probably more than he wanted to admit. Stiles knew that this would pass, it always hit after someone had brought Stiles’ mind back to who he used to be.

“I didn’t hear your heart skip,” Peter said. He had a smile on his face when Stiles managed to bring himself to look at Peter. It did help, as much as Stiles thought it wouldn’t have. Sure, he could be lying to himself so much that he truly thought it was the truth, but he would try his best to avoid _that_ possibility. “You are male, no matter what parts you were born with. No matter what changes you do or do not go through.”

“Thanks,” Stiles grinned. It was a small one, but Peter would gladly take it as a win. “Can I –” Stiles stopped himself with a frown. He knew he could talk to Peter, the man was more than happy to let someone know when they had overstepped, and he had been the one to arrive unannounced. “It just feels like they kill me whenever they say things like that, and I can’t tell my dad. I just feel so guilty about killing her, so I get it,” Stiles said blandly, trying to get the words out without thinking too much on them. “I get that they hold onto her, I feel horrible about taking her away but –”

“Keeping her isn’t worth this,” Peter pointed out, feeling Stiles relax at the simple statement. Peter didn’t tell him he was being silly, or that thinking of _her_ as a separate being was stupid or anything. Stiles had always feared that people wouldn’t agree. That they wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t easy, and Stiles did mourn the innocent girl that he used to be, even if he tried to avoid thinking about her. He always felt sick, knowing that if he had only been _different_ –

“I’m sorry,” Stiles sighed, cutting off his own thought process. He hadn’t meant to put anything like this onto anyone. There was a reason he had grabbed the card as soon as his dad left, just to give himself time to open it and be _happy_ again. To accept himself. To not feel like he was living a lie. Stiles always felt guilty talking about _feelings_ , especially those feelings.

“Don’t be,” Peter said.

Stiles didn’t quite know what to say in response, feeling a little lost at how _good_ Peter was being. Part of Stiles wanted anything but what Peter was doing, he wanted someone to put him down, to tell him he was being stupid. It was self-destructive, and Stiles knew it, but a slight part of him did want to reduce him to tears. To welcome that destructive part of himself and the misery that would follow.

“You’re thinking too much,” Peter said, his voice soft again as he pulled Stiles out of the minefield of his mind. “Let’s go somewhere else,” he suggested.

“Ok.”

“Ok,” Peter repeated. He made sure that he had a smile on his face as he stood and helped Stiles up onto his feet. It was a slow process, pulling Stiles upright and making sure he was stable on his feet before doing anything else. Peter lead Stiles towards the living room, pausing a little as Stiles continued onwards.

“Bed,” he said simply, making Peter pause. Even with the teasing that they had that first day, they had never laid in Stiles’ bed, settling for the couch like they had the previous time. Peter had been more than respectful, aware that Stiles’ room was his sanctuary.

“You sure darling?”

“I am either going to cry or overthink,” Stiles admitted. “I’d rather _that_ be in my room than somewhere my dad might walk in and see.”

Peter nodded, trusting that Stiles knew best for himself. It wouldn’t send a good message if he contradicted him this soon after Peter had insisted Stiles knew exactly who he was. They made their way slowly to Stiles’ room, their hands linked. Neither spoke. Not even when they reached their destination. Peter toed his shoes off as Stiles climbed right into his bed. The room wasn’t quite as Peter had imagined, fairly simple, somewhat cluttered but clearly in a systematic method. Not the typical teenage boys’ room at all.

Not wanting to waste any other time, Peter followed Stiles, joining him under the blankets on the almost too small bed. Without hesitating, Stiles had turned and pressed himself against Peter’s side, an arm wrapping around the man’s chest and a leg curling around Peter’s own legs. In response, Peter curled his arms around Stiles, holding him close.

They both laid in silence, just taking comfort in each other. As useless as Peter felt, he did enjoy being able to have that façade of keeping Stiles together. He had an idea, that he might put into action as soon as Stiles fell asleep, if that did happen. Firstly, Peter wanted to make sure that card was gone, maybe hidden for the Sheriff to find, but certainly out of Stiles’ ability to find. He didn’t want to see this much unhappiness in the boy again.

“Peter?” Stiles said quietly, breaking the silence that had been surrounding them for most of the day, almost a little nervous to speak. Peter only hummed, raising an eyebrow as Stiles turned a little in his arms, almost climbing right on top of his chest. “Tell me to move?” the teen asked, his anxiety tainting his scent.

“Why would I do that?” Peter tried to keep his tone even, calm and soft, unsure of scaring whatever Stiles was planning away. It was almost like a lightbulb went off above his head as Stiles bit his own lip. Peter honestly didn’t know if he should put a stop to what was about to happen, he didn’t know if it was a breach of trust, if he was just a convenient body in Stiles’ moment of need. With how Stiles was looking at him, Peter wasn’t sure if he truly cared.

Stiles gave him one last look, almost waiting for the stop. Nothing came, so Stiles pushed himself up, thankful that Peter could easily take his weight, and he pressed his lips to the older mans for the briefest of seconds. Peter cupped Stiles’ cheek with his free hand, but he didn’t follow Stiles’ lips as they pulled away. Only brushing a thumb over the teens mouth. It was innocent, was all Peter could think. It didn’t mean anything. There was no use in hoping for something that shouldn’t happen.

“Maybe next time I could take you up on the offer to help,” Stiles said, “for real.”

“I’m in no rush,” Peter grinned.

“Can you stay?” Stiles asked, resting himself against Peter. It was strange how _right_ it felt. How comforting it was.

“As long as you want,” Peter promised, getting Stiles’ full grin as a reward. Quicker than Peter ever expected Stiles to move, the boy had managed to press another chaste kiss to Peter’s lips.


End file.
